


The Man in the Tan Jacket

by livinginnightvale (cloudsgrl)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, M/M, Time Travel, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsgrl/pseuds/livinginnightvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came from the future in attempt to fix wrongs. Unfortunately, it seems no matter what he does, he cannot prevent StrexCorp from invading. But what he can do, this persona can do, is stop Cecil Palmer from dying. Even if it means Carlos has to be the Man in the Tan Jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I had brainstormed for a while, and then decided to work on this for NaNoWriMo 2013. Unfortunately, my life got so busy that I failed NaNo with miraculous colors. I’m working on editing/writing/revising what I do have to make this work.

A sound cut through Cecil’s broadcast: a high pitched wailing sound. It paused and gasped, and the noise continued, coming across vaguely as sobbing. Carlos immediately froze and turned towards the radio, feeling goose bumps raise across his skin. Carefully he placed the beaker and tongs back onto the metal lab table and stepped closer to the radio. The sounds of screaming were inter-spaced with gasps, groans, and pleas.

He recognized that voice; that voice he knew intimately, but he had never heard that sound come from the corresponding mouth before. The scientist grabbed the keys and ran out of the laboratory, not even bothering to lock – half-hoping the Sherriff’s Secret Police would be kind and do it for him – before getting into his vehicle and turning up the radio as loud of he could stand. Had someone gotten into the booth and attacked Cecil? Had Radio Management escaped and Cecil was somehow uninformed (which was madness, Cecil could tell Management’s moods even when he wasn’t in the building)? Or maybe…

Ever since StrexCorp had bought the Night Vale Community Radio, nothing had been operating as normal. The new blurbs were slightly more maniacal, there were more intense advertisements, and Cecil… Cecil was off, even when one compared Night Vale’s “normalcy” to the outside world.

There was a break in the screams, a pause in the incomprehensible sobs, and a murmuring was heard, somehow low enough that the microphone was unable to pick it up. The scientist’s gaze rested on the radio, as if somehow it would allow him to see exactly what was occurring within the booth.

Voices garbled, Carlos picked up: _“…last words?”_

There was a heaving breath, choked, if Carlos listened carefully he could convince himself he didn’t hear the liquid that was practically spat upon the microphone.

 _“C-Carlos,”_ there was a begging note to the words, _“Carlos. Please. Car—“_ his begging interrupted by the silence of a pained gasp. Gurgling, panting, and then silence. There was a painful silence transmitted over the radio. And then a click. The radio began playing out-dated prerecorded messages. There was something inherently different between those messages and now.

Cecil was once more solemn, more plagued with moments of existential crises, or teenage happiness. But that Cecil that he had once feared and grown to love had shifted again, had changed. Becoming more like that Kevin.

But there were moments here and there that the previous Cecil would show himself, moments when he wasn’t plagued by whatever it was StrexCorp did inside the station offices. And after every moment, every chance that Cecil revealed why he was such a popular radio host, there was another day of mandatory reeducation, another day of Carlos sitting at home after “work”, waiting for his boyfriend, waiting to hear whether or not he was coming home.

Judging by the sounds that transmitted over the radio, judging by the feeling deep in Carlos’s heart, Carlos would never hear Cecil’s voice again.

Cecil was dead.

It was confirmed only moments later by an inconsolable intern forced to take over the live show as someone “cleaned up the body”. The intern was a crying, sniggling mess that conveyed all too well over the radio airwaves. The scientist sat and listened, his car almost hissing and growling at the fact they weren’t moving – how many lights had they remained here? Would the Secret Police call attention to the fact? Or were they too in mourning?

 _“Oh gods,”_ the intern wept heavier in realization, _“has – has anyone told Carlos!?”_ There was another wave of silence, interrupted by the sobs. _“Please, listeners, has anyone told Carlos!?”_


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos sat there in his car, uncertain how long he truly had remained. Time didn’t work in Night Vale. Time was something that he could have made up for all Night Vale cared. And his time with Cecil had run out. He was gone. Long gone, judging by the way the radio station already seemed to be discussing his funeral arrangements.

His car died. Either from gas or battery or something replaceable. But why would he bother anymore? What was the point? There was no Night Vale without Cecil. So there Carlos remained, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, his face covered in dried trails of tears. His muscles ached from the position, his back screamed from the odd stretch. But the scientist didn’t care.

Finally, someone knocked on the driver’s side window, and the scientist vaguely acknowledged it with a grunt, or an attempt therein. There was another knock, followed by a noise he vaguely recognized. And then there was a thump. A thump that was followed by a series of curse words in a sweet voice that belayed the meaning.

“Tonto del culo,” the voice muttered darkly before fiddling with the car door handle and wrenching it open. Carlos belatedly jumped in shock when a cane prodded him in the side. “Tu vivas?” she questioned. He nodded, pretty sure he understood the meaning behind them. At the nod, she hit him with the cane. “Don’t DO that, Carlitos!” Old Woman Josie chided, voice still tinged with the latino dialect. “It took the Sherriff’s Secret Police alerting me to the fact you were even alive! Do you know how long you’ve been out here, boy?” She tugged ineffectively on his sleeve. “Days! Days without food or water! How you’re alive is beyond me. One of the Erikas must have been looking out for you.”

He didn’t remember seeing any Erikas, but he hasn’t really paid any attention. Days? How many days? Had he missed the funeral? What had they done with Cecil’s body?

"You're going to miss Cecil's funeral. The memorial service held with the standard rituals. At the funeral, they won't even hold an eulogy, it's against Night Vale Community Radio standards. He'll be sent into the room with Station Management, as is the custom." Old Woman Josie broke off into another series of curses that had the Scientist cringing.

An Erika lifted him up, carrying him in its arms so easily, the translucent skin burning through the fabric of his laboratory coat and the button up shirt and pants. It seared his flesh and had him cringe. It trilled and it somehow comforted him. It was a small comfort, but certainly a comfort.

He was led among the Erikas to Old Woman Josie’s place, covered by a darkened shadow. A shield, she informed him after handing him a corn muffin decisively. Calmly, he found himself walking within, the Erikas humming different tones. The house was as quaint and safe as it appeared when he first moved into town, the house appearing as normal as any other outside Night Vale.

The shield negated that now, as did the angels, but Carlos could not afford to be picky at this time. He was still attempting to digest the fact that his boyfriend was dead. The one true person who had kept him somehow sane this entire time was gone.

Old Woman Josie gestured for him to sit on the couch, a ratty number with an absurd paisley pattern with what were once wickedly bright colors dull into something pale and bearable. His hands held the muffin, his fingertips picking at the paper liner along the bottom.

He turned away from her soothing smile, the wrinkles around her lips and eyes truly were signs of her smiling for many years. He had hoped he too would have wrinkles like that – one day, he would think when he saw them, one day I’ll have those – as a sign of all the happiness he experienced. Now he doubted he’d get to last much longer without having Cecil to help him.

“Turn that frown upside down, Carlos,” Old Woman Josie chided softly. “I know you miss Cecil, as all of us do. But being depressed over his death doesn’t give him the honor or happiness he deserves. “Carlos lowered his gaze to the muffin, trying to fight off the tears once again “Cecil always knew he would die from saying too much. It was just something we all could see coming. I just don’t think he expected to die where he could not wish you a farewell.”

Carlos remembered all too well what Cecil’s last words were. Who’s name he pleaded for in between screams and cries. The sound would stay with him for years, would haunt him for eternity if he would let it.

“He knew it was coming,” Carlos managed to whisper. “He was warned so many times. I cannot tell you how many notices he received from them. Some he did not even admit that they existed until after the fact. How could I just…”

The Erikas chimed around him, a melody of tones that conveyed mutual sadness. Old Woman Josie waited until the tones finished before speaking “I’ve known Cecil since he was a child, and the worst thing possible for him was to worry others. He tended to bottle up things until we pried them from him, and even then he tended to kick and scream.” She gave a wistful sigh. “It would have been another death for him in a sense, to know that he worried you so.”

Carlos felt his chest and limbs shake with the breath he heaved in. Each was shakier than the last, and the scientist could find it in himself to apologize for the growing pile of crumbs beneath the muffin he picked at. He left me, Carlos wanted to scream. He left me and now I have nothing keeping me here. I have nothing else to survive for.

An overly large hand patted up atop his head, and Carlos focused his bloodshot eyes on the black angel. Erika. Somehow he could pick up a smile from it, and the tiny wings behind it fluttered before resting. A melody of chimes came from this one, followed by a voice that caused Carlos’s face to become hot, and it filled every part of his body, causing his scars to burn. Tears streamed from his eyes and the whole room lit up with a dark light. “We must fix this. They cannot take over Night Vale.”

“B-but how?” Carlos managed to blubber from the sobs that were working their way through his throat. “They have the radio station; everyone receives their news and worries through Cecil. I’ve never seen anyone else listen to any other station here. Strex Corp has already won Night Vale, don’t you see that?” He stood up and began pacing wildly, his lab coat almost billowin behind him like some sort of action hero. “Cecil was everything that kept this town from collapsing. The Secret Police don’t have their informant, the people don’t know of the current happenings, and Strex Corp now controls all information coming in and out of Night Vale. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Not even your science?” Old Woman Josie questioned. There was a lengthy pause.

The scientist shook his head, “No. Science can’t fix any of this, unless I go and blow up their building, which is against so many laws, but even then they’ll still own the station, and Cecil’s dead, so what’s the point?” One of the Erika’s patted his shoulder, and then the pocket of his lab coat, where he proceeded to lift out Carlos’s cell phone. It was dead, the screen not even attempting to light up and inform him of the low battery when the angel hit a button. The angel’s large hands completely dwarfed the minuscule phone.

A buzzing noise came from it, and Carlos stared as the phone glowed, smoking from the small cracks and crevices that snapped and kept the phone together. And then the scientist felt himself want to scoff, the sound interrupted by audio emitting from the phone. Audio like a voice mail.

Erika chirped and then the voicemail played. Carlos found himself slumping to his knees as the audio registered.

_"Greetings, Mister Scientist. I am calling to personally invite you to Cecil Palmer’s memorial service held in the Community Radio Station, as I’m told this is the custom. The service will be held tomorrow, to offer everyone a chance to come and say their goodbyes. I look forward to seeing you there."_

There was a pause, and then the click of the phone hanging up.

“Was that…?”

An Erika spoke up from behind Josie, “That was the Strex Corp head. The fact he’s contacting you directly—“

“The head?”

“The CEO, the one who ordered the takeover of Night Vale,” yet another stated softly. “And, if one doesn’t mind the term… he could very well be your double, scientist.”

**Author's Note:**

> My beta is the amazing “lyriumdust” on tumblr. If you wish to talk to me, give me suggestions or just stalk, I’m “livinginnightvale” (also on tumblr).


End file.
